


pricks and piano lessons

by Littlelionman15



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Court of Thorns and Roses Fusion, Artist Feyre Archeron, Book 2: A Court of Mist and Fury, Cute Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Feyre Archeron & Cassian Friendship, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand Fluff, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, POV Feyre Archeron, POV Rhysand (ACoTaR), Piano, Post-A Court of Mist and Fury, Post-A Court of Thorns and Roses, Pre-A Court of Wings and Ruin, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26637592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlelionman15/pseuds/Littlelionman15
Summary: AU in which, sometime in the first weeks of their bargain, Feyre hears Rhysand play the piano, and despite all common sense, decides to join him; he offers to teach her.spoiler: it's less learning and more flirting lol sorry, idk much about pianos but really wanted to write this
Relationships: Amren & Azriel (ACoTaR), Amren & Feyre Archeron, Azriel & Cassian & Morrigan (ACoTaR), Azriel & Cassian & Rhysand (ACoTaR), Azriel & Cassian (ACoTaR), Azriel & Morrigan (ACoTaR), Azriel/Cassian/Morrigan (ACoTaR), Azriel/Morrigan (ACoTaR), Cassian & Morrigan (ACoTaR), Cassian & Rhysand (ACoTaR), Feyre Archeron & Azriel, Feyre Archeron & Cassian, Feyre Archeron & Morrigan, Feyre Archeron & Rhysand, Feyre Archeron & Tamlin, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin, Rhysand & Tamlin (ACoTaR)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	pricks and piano lessons

**Author's Note:**

> hi my high lords, ladies and royals!
> 
> i'm sorry if the summary is misleading. i'm really not well-informed about the world of music, but the idea of these two sitting at the piano, illuminated by moonlight, was too strong not to be turned into a little fic. 
> 
> please leave feedback - any and all is welcome! <3

As the Inner Circle – spare for Amren, who stayed in the house for a reason she wouldn’t disclose and the others wouldn’t dare ask – slowly gathered around a bonfire outside the House of Wind, laughter and the cinnamon scent of their coffee filled out the patch of night they’d stolen to themselves.

The flames glistened on Mor’s golden hair, which fell over her left shoulder in flawless waves, as she leaned in to hear a story Cassian was telling to Azriel. The three laughed as Cassian imitated the antagonist of the story, whom he’d beaten in front of his armies.

Feyre leaned against Rhys’ shoulder, finding comfort in the softness of his vest. She was still getting used to her powers, but also to another thing about her new body – heightened senses.

At times, she’d love it – when feeling her mate’s citrus scent, which had reached far beyond just a smell; as she’d close her eyes as her nostrils tingled with it, Feyre could see colors, and ever since, yellow had become one of her favorite colors, along with violet and black.   
And at other times, she wasn’t too happy about it; she’d broken about half a dozen glasses and bent exactly seven spoons – Rhys kept count, only to tease her – at this point.

A beautiful melody joined the beauty of the night; it’d been coming from the balcony, on which upon turning their heads, they’d seen Amren at the piano. Her fingers danced over the black and white tiles, creating a song so beautiful that it seemed as if even the night herself had paused to listen.

Once she’d finished, they all applauded unanimously; it had been a truly beautiful composition, and one more thing Feyre would add on the list of things she learned about the short haired woman.

“That was beautiful” Mor said as the artist descended the stairs, nearing the group, “I honestly don’t remember the last time I heard you play, Amren.”

“Oh” she waves her hand upon sitting down on a red, satin pillow, “I lost count as well. But seeing tonight’s sky – it’s richness with all the most beautiful stars – and you lot down here, having fun and enjoying the peace… It inspired me to play once more.”

Rhysand leaned his head against Feyre’s, interlacing their fingers underneath the cozy blanket he’d brought along for her. “I’ve heard many artists in my lifetime” he claims, “but they all fall short in comparison to Amren.”

“It’s as if you vowed the stars into a melody” Feyre says, realizing that it might not be as clear to them as it was to her, who’d seen it through a painter’s eye – the bright stars descending to the tiles of her piano, dancing beneath her fingers and vowing a beautiful pattern.

Amren bows quickly, thanking them with a smile on her crimson lips.

“Do you remember the night you learned how to play the piano?” Rhys asked his mate somewhat more silently, as if to keep the memory only between them to cherish it.

She drew a smile, recalling it. “I do” Feyre says, “and I still love it.”

*****

It was a few weeks after they'd began fulfilling their bargain; for one week per month, Feyre was to spend seven days with her lover's biggest enemy – the cruel and heartless High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand.

But as days passed, she began seeing that he may not have been as bad as his reputation gave him credit for; surely, his sense of humor was as wicked as possible, and the snarky one-liners, shameless flirtation, purring smiles and the sentences praising him that she was to copy weren’t very helpful when it came to painting him in a good light –despite those details that made him irritant, _not dangerous_ , Rhysand had fallen into the category of people Feyre was able to tolerate.

Tolerate – that’s all she was giving him for now; all he deserved.

A thing she was slowly beginning to like about the mysterious High Lord was the sound of the music he created late in the evening. It didn’t bother her sleep – if it did, she’d scold him harshly – it was quite the contrary; something in it made her sink into sleep easier.

One particular night, she’d exited her room and traced the sound of it, growing stronger and stronger as she closed in on the great room in which they’d have meals together.

“My favorite prisoner” he felt her presence even as his back was turned to her, and she was sure he had many more than just her as he said that, “what lures you out here so late in the night?   
Hasn’t dear Tamlin let you know how dangerous the Night Court is?”

She snorted, sitting down on one of the chairs of their breakfast table. “Your music” she said, “I find it to be very beautiful.”

The High Lord turns around, a devilish smile on his beautiful lips; he wore a black blouse, three buttons open from the collar, allowing the moonlight to illuminate the edges of the tattoos on his chest.

“Is that a compliment I hear or are my ears deceiving me?” he asks, those violet eyes gleaming with pride, and gestures for her to sit down next to him. “Come, I’ll teach you a melody.”

She’d given it thought, and despite her better reasoning, she followed through. “It’s a melody my mother loved” he says with a different tone this time – something less enthusiastic, but rather honest; hurting.

“Give me your hand” he says, and carefully, she opens her palm and extends it to him.   
Rhys takes it, gently wrapping his fingers around its edges, and turns it towards the black and white tiles he’d learned to play at an early age. 

He guided her hand across the tiles in a maneuver that seemed strange to her, but as he went along, a soothing melody came out. Seeing that smile, those eyes more radiant the stars above them… it made her feel a certain way – one she shouldn’t be feeling, not when her and Tamlin were in a compromised position in their relationship – because of which she withdrew her hand from under his.

He looked at her, his perfect eyebrow arched in wonder. He waited a moment before saying, in that beautiful voice of his: “Feyre darling, if you don’t wish to learn from me, I can easily arrange for the finest teacher to be called when you’re here. Or, perhaps find another purpose for those elegant fingers of yours.”

Feyre looked down at her hands, remembering how his father had once said they were made to live in luxury and to play the piano – both a lie, apparently – and then looked at him, her eyebrows in a frown as she created a mental list of all the disgusting things he could’ve meant.

“Oh, Cauldron, no” he puts his hand over his eyes, making their ever-present gleam even stronger and more beautiful once he removed it, “You truly have such vulgar thoughts for a lady of your status, my lovely Feyre. I meant to propose a nice, candle-lit night with you scratching my back with those swift fingers of yours as you read out my poetry to me.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks as she looked at him again, but she quickly found a way to change the focus of his gaze: “I bet they would all be praising you, your beauty and your immaculate skills in bed.”

Rhys chuckled, nodding as he says “And none of them would fall _short_ of the truth” with a wink at the end of the sentence.

A smile lifts her rosy cheeks, and upon looking at her, he once more becomes aware of her otherworldly beauty.

“Prick” she says, chuckling; and so the lesson continued, well into early hours of the morning. 


End file.
